Hello everyone!

This is a short one-shot that has been pestering me for a while now, so I decided to pound it out and share it. This is my idea of what McGonagall was thinking that first day of class, where Harry and Ron run in late. I hope you enjoy it! And please let me know what you think :)

Disclaimer: McGongall and McDonald's always sounded the same to me, but, most unfortunately, neither of them belongs to me. Duh.

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I've found that it is sometimes easier to think as a cat.

Or perhaps it's easier to escape thinking.

Well, truly, either achieves the objective of easing my mind. And at that moment, it needed to be eased.

I sat on my desk and tucked my tail neatly under my body, watching as my new first years found their way to my class. But my mind was preoccupied with one first year in particular.

I wasn't sure if I truly wanted to meet him, to be quite honest.

--Harold James Potter—

His name was two-thirds of the way down my roster, glaring like a tacky neon sign of a half-naked showgirl. I simply couldn't keep my eyes off of it for very long.

His story was simply so tragic. To lose his parents in such a way…

Did I mention it's easier to refrain from tears while in my cat form? Well, it is, and still my eyes are prickling.

I tried yesterday evening, but failed because of my determination to be respectfully surreptitious, to get a good look at him. From what I did see, he had inherited the trademark Potter hair. But he was about to walk into my classroom, and then I would truly be able to see his face.

My tail twitched impatiently. Apparently, he had also inherited his father's disregard for punctuality. He was late.

"We made it," a redhaired boy called behind him as he burst into the door, "Can you imagine the look on McGonagall's face if we were late?"

The Potter boy stumbled through the door next, hurrying off to find a seat. He looked extraordinarily like his father.

Except for those startlingly green eyes. Those belong to Lily, and Lily alone.

Oh, goodness, I will have to have a word with Severus before this poor boy goes down to Potions. Merlin can see that James Potter could not have won a better trophy for himself, and Severus will not take kindly to it.

I decided that it was the moment to reveal myself to the class.

"That was bloody brilliant," the red-haired boy said, eyes open wide in awe. I think there was a Weasley on my list, was there not?

"Well thank you, for that assessment, Mr. Weasley," I told him. "Perhaps it would be more useful if I were to transfigure Mr. Potter or yourself into a pocketwatch? That way one of you might be on time!"

"We got lost," the Potter boy said feebly, attempting to defend his friend.

"Then perhaps a map," I suggested, "I trust you don't need one to find your seats."

Such a feeble reply he gave. Honest, yes, but feeble.

And uninspired.

James would have had a response ready up his sleeve, animation bubbling up from his core. And Sirius Black would have chimed in no more than an instant later.

This boy was not James Potter.

The realization broke my heart as I turned to walk to my desk.

This was not James Potter.

This was his son.

This was a boy who I knew to be emotionally broken.

Would that his problems could be easily solved with something as mundane as detention.

But I saw the small Weasley share a friendly nod with him when they took a desk. And, looking back after the war and everything that boy has been through, I know that he inherited the most important of his father's traits.

He made good friends.

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Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and please review :)